


Foxtrot

by Prowlsuniboob



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Investigations, M/M, Romance, Spying, Turbofox Minimus Ambus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-09-23 17:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20344036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prowlsuniboob/pseuds/Prowlsuniboob
Summary: Minimus Ambus is trying to settle for his own mediocrity. Ravage is trying to find a new cause to live for. They're both learning how to live without the war.Maybe they can teach one another a thing or two.This is the tale of a little turbofox and the felinoid beastformer who fell in love with him, and of the winding path that leads to their happy ending.





	1. One Year of Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some may recognise this fic. I posted it some months ago and then took it down because I wanted a break from writing and the thought of leaving something unfinished chafed at me. Now I'm reposting chapter's I've already written (with edits) and I'm looking to continue and hopefully finish this fic :))

Minimus wasn't very fond of parties. All types of parties, really, but the celebration that lay before him was particularly unpalatable. All needless conversation, overpriced energon, and hidden political agendas. Dominus had always found it funny, Minimus's reluctance to enter a gala or party. _This is what you were forged for!_ he would say, and laugh. Minimus didn't remember what his brother's laugh sounded like anymore.

Minimus put such thoughts aside (far behind a thick steel door, where they belonged) and stepped into the high-ceilinged room which hosted the higher echelons' One-Year-Without-War celebration.

Optimus Prime conversed with Soundwave while Starscream bragged to a smiling Bumblebee. Minimus spied Megatron standing near the engex bar, speaking with someone that Minimus couldn’t quite see through the crowd.

The room was, to say the least, full of Autobot, Decepticon, and neutrals; leaders, officers, and significant individuals. Minimus Ambus felt exposed and inadequate without the protection of the Magnus armor.

“I would rather that Ultra Magnus’s memory be laid to rest,” Optimus Prime said to Minimus several months ago. “I know that you have… been him for a very long time, but I hope you can understand that I would rather not continue such a charade when it is no longer necessary.”

"Of course, sir," Ultra Magnus spoke for the last time, before being reduced to simply Minimus Ambus.

And at the moment, not just Minimus Ambus, but the Irreducible Minimus. It had been the combined urging of Ratchet and Rung that put him to it. 'You need to stop hiding behind a suit of armor,' Ratchet had said, gruffly but not unkindly. 'You need to take steps to accept yourself as Minimus Ambus, not Ultra Magnus,' Rung had said, with that kind smile of his.

Minimus had been sorely tempted to leave following that advice for another time, but someone (probably Ratchet) had told Rodimus about Minimus's take-home project and took it upon himself to irritate Minimus into arriving without his armor.

It had been decades since Minimus had last removed his secondary armor willingly. Even when he'd removed the Magnus Armor and lowered himself to Minimus Ambus, he wouldn't remove the minesweeper-alt armor. He preferred to look mecha in the optics. Difficult, when one's true height barely reached mid-thigh on the average Transformer.

Minimus picked his way through the crowd with several 'excuse me's and 'pardon me's. They all stepped aside without a second glance, which was something of a relief. Minimus Ambus was not so recognized a figure as Ultra Magnus had been– in fact, the connection between Minimus Ambus and Ultra Magnus was to remain strictly confidential. It wouldn't do for the populace to learn that the infamous Ultra Magnus had died centuries before, and had been impersonated by several people since then.

Minimus still had his work, of course. His expertise in law had been called upon quite often in the past year, but his actual job was in law enforcement. He was a police lieutenant at the Debris station (called as such by the other mecha serving in it). He'd been offered the rank of captain, even of police chief, but Minimus had declined those offers. He had never felt comfortable in the role of a leader, despite playing it for hundreds of thousands of years. Besides, who would ever choose to follow Minimus Ambus, of all people?

He reached the bar without trouble and pulled himself up onto a bar stool. The mech behind the bar was unfamiliar, but Minimus managed to order a non-alcoholic drink without trouble. Drink in hand, he turned slightly to survey the room. Not that he could see much of it. Indeed, even with his perch on the tall stool he could hardly see over the heads of the milling crowd.

Then he saw a bright, orange and red figure waving his hands. Minimus shrank slightly in his seat, but he couldn't very well pretend he hadn't just met Rodimus's eyes through the crowd.

The speedster pushed his way over to the bar while Minimus contemplated and discarded the idea of slipping off the stool and disappearing. Rodimus hopped up onto the stool beside Minimus.

“I almost didn't think you'd show up,” Rodimus said by way of greeting, a grin on his face.

Minimus frowned. “It would be an insult if I hadn't. This gathering is meant to celebrate a pivotal point in Cybertronian history, and–”

“Yeah, it's all super exciting.” Rodimus leaned an elbow on the bar and looked out over the crowd. He probably saw more than Minimus did with his greater height. “Prime said I could give a speech if I wanted to, but I turned him down. Didn't want to steal the spotlight.”

"It's good of you to exercise humility," Minimus said, thinking that he, too, wouldn't want to somehow disappoint the Prime with his inadequacy.

Rodimus’s grin widened. “Right? I think Optimus thought so too.” Rodimus took a moment to order engex from the bartender. Minimus kept his disapproval to himself. “So how's it going with being a police officer? Catch any criminals?”

“Not lately. I believe that the concept of one full year of peace has quieted any unrest for now.” Which was a relief, because most of those in law enforcement had been concerned that tensions would increase rather than decrease.

“Cool, cool.” Rodimus tipped a third of his drink into his mouth and swallowed with barely a grimace. “So how does it feel to be short?”

Minimus closed his optics for a moment and sighed heavily. “As it always does.”

“Feels short, then,” Rodimus concluded. “You know, I heard Starscream telling Bumblebee about this new racetrack they're trying to build. Fragging finally, if you ask me.”

Minimus nodded approvingly. “That's a sign that our economy has improved enough that we can afford indulgences.”

“It's a sign that Prowl can get off my aft for street racing, that's what it is.” Rodimus drank more of his engex. “Honestly, that fragger needs to get that stick out of his aft.”

“I'm sure Optimus would prefer you have more respect for the law.”

Rodimus scoffed. “I'll listen to him when he says it to my face, but not before.” His attention was caught by something in the crowd. “Oh, hey, I think I see Drift.” Rodimus drained his glass and ordered two new glasses of engex. “I'll see you later, Mims.”

The young Prime was gone before Minimus had a chance to scold him for the ridiculous nickname.

Only a few other mecha came by to give Minimus their greetings: Rung commended Minimus for arriving without his armor; Optimus Prime offered a smile and a few words; Ratchet complained about the fact that his clinic received patients when ‘we’re supposed to be in fragging peacetime’; and Fortress Maximus provided some appreciably brief smalltalk about the current state of law enforcement.

By the time things were beginning to settle down, Minimus had finished his drink (which had been slightly too sweet for his tastes, but he didn't want to appear rude by leaving it) and set the empty glass aside.

Optimus and Megatron spoke to one another beside the podium at the far end of the room. The chairs laid out in rows before the podium began to fill up.

Now here was a dilemma to which Minimus couldn't find a solution; should he sit in the front, as he would if he'd been Ultra Magnus? Or the back? Or the middle?

But people would think it strange, some unknown, unremarkable minibot sitting in the front as though he had the right to be there. And in the back, he wouldn't be able to see anything. And, oh, the seats had already all but filled up and he'd have to step over people's legs to get to any middle seats.

It took a little time, but Minimus finally found a suitably unobtrusive place to stand; just beside a support pillar, close enough to the podium that he could see the speaker, but far enough from both the podium and the rows of chairs that he would go unnoticed and unbothered.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Minimus leaned against the pillar and watched Optimus take the stand. There was a smattering of applause, to which Minimus did not join.

“My fellow Cybertronians and assorted colonists,” Optimus began. “We are here to celebrate a full year of true peace.”

More applause, and a couple hoots. One of them sounded like Whirl, and came from the far back.

Optimus continued, speaking about economic and social progress. The fact that scientists believed that hotspots would soon begin to appear. He talked at length about the world that he wanted to greet these new sparks.

“A world where they are loved and accepted, regardless of altmode. Where prejudice does not prevent them from being themselves, from becoming who they want to be.”

Minimus huffed, surprising himself with the cynical noise. Perhaps being out of armor so long was a detriment to his self control, he really ought to…

“It seems you're being uncharacteristic in more ways than size tonight.”

It took all Minimus's self-control not to turn immediately towards the voice. When he did turn, rather more sedately, towards Ravage, the felinoid's wry gaze implied Minimus's efforts were not entirely successful.

Gathering his dignity, Minimus said stiffly, "I didn't realize you were on the guest list." He actually hadn't been party to the guest list, since he wasn't in security. It had been (and still was) nerve-wracking, being in a room full of so many unknowns.

"I'm not. Soundwave took me along as his plus-one." Ravage sat back on his haunches. His head came only a few inches below Minimus's.

"Shouldn't you be with him, then?"

Ravage scoffed. "I'm his plus-one, not his date."

"Ah." Minimus turned away to look at Optimus and hoped Ravage would consider the conversation over.

Of course, Minimus's hopes never did come to fruition.

"So," said Ravage, "What was it that our dear Prime said that brought out the cynical side in you, of all people."

Minimus pursed his lips. "I'm not sure why it concerns you."

The felinoid's shoulders rolled in a languorous shrug. "It doesn't, I'm just making polite conversation. I usually don't, you know. Make polite conversation." Behind him, Ravage's sharp-tipped tail flicked to and fro.

If he weren't trapped here out of obligation to the celebration of peace, Minimus would have walked out. But, his considered, this _was_ a celebration of peace, so he ought to put aside his own wants in favor of indulging the nosy beastformer. (This was not, after all, the first time Minimus had postponed his desires to indulge another beastformer.)

"If you must know," Minimus said, "Given the current social politics, I find it unlikely that any newsparks will find the world that Optimus aspires to, if they were to emerge now.” He looked over at the podium, where the Prime still spoke. He was now on the topic of their positive relations with the colonies. “Decepticon and Autobot tensions are still high, and neutrals remain aloof. And… there are still prejudices against certain altmodes, even now.”

“You mean beast altmodes.”

Minimus nodded. “Yes. You'll notice that our relationship with the Eukarians is rather more tense than most. The stigma against beast modes remains, despite the war.” Perhaps even because of it.

During the war, if you couldn't fight or somehow support the war effort, you were useless. Could a turbofox hold a gun? Could a memory stick drive behind enemy lines? Beastformers were viewed as primitive at best, among the Autobots. Fodder to throw at the enemy, to tear with their primitive claws and feral teeth.

It didn't help that when the war was beginning, and sides were being chosen, most beastformers chose to become Decepticons.

Ravage scoffed. “Typical of Autobots to assume their views are shared by all.”

Minimus bristled. “Are things different among the Decepticons?”

“Of course.” Ravage all but preened. “One of the things Megatron demanded when he began our Cause was beastformer rights. Many beastformers joined the Cause early on, including myself. We are common among the Decepticons.”

Minimus had forgotten that particular section of Megatron’s demands, from back when the Decepticon leader was simply a gladiator using terrorism to attempt to enact change. But then, Minimus had never been one of Megatron’s fans; while Megatron’s intent had been somewhat noble, his methods were anything but.

“If anything, the acceptance of beastformers among Decepticons would make life worse for beastformers sparked into our new age.” Minimus considered his words carefully before he said them. “They would gravitate towards Decepticon society, and both Autobots and neutrals would view this as Decepticons recruiting new soldiers for a new age of war, increasing the stigma against the frametype.”

Ravage hummed, the sound more like a rumbling purr than anything else. “You've put some thought into this.”

“Of course. It's my duty to consider the future of Cybertron’s society.”

“It really isn't.”

Minimus pursed his lips in a slight grimace. “It's the duty of all of us. That's why we’re all here, at this… party. Showing the rest of Cybertron that we are united.”

Ravage tilted his helm, optics glinting. “Do you think it's working?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.” Ravage sniffed derisively.

Minimus frowned. “Do you disagree?”

“I only think that you're being overly optimistic.” Ravage’s ears flicked. “Things may be looking better right now, but I'm sure that some random scuffle on the street with set things back when fingers start pointing and accusations of faction loyalty are made.”

“Of course, but things are getting better, however slowly.”

“Too slowly, for some.”

Minimus tutted. “Millions of years of war does not go away quickly. I'm sure you're aware of that.”

Ravage huffed. “Painfully so.”

Optimus concluded his speech, and Megatron stepped up to the stand. There was some applause, some hoots, and a wave of suppressed grumbles.

“Optimus has already given greetings in my stead. So instead I say, thank you.” Megatron smiled. “Thank you for living this past year in peace.”

The applause that followed was louder and somewhat more genuine. Minimus watched Megatron attentively, observing the way his stance remained loose, his servos open. Megatron was still viewed as a threat, and he knew it, and was trying to negate that. It was almost working, at least on Minimus. Megatron could be very charismatic.

“Times have been hard, but Optimus has revealed to us all the good that has come to us in the past year. It's difficult to see change when it's happening, but when you look back, it's easy to track the progression.” Megatron’s expression did not change, but Minimus could sense the heavy reflection behind his words. “But as we step into this new age, we must never forget the ones we lost, and the ones we left behind.”

Somber silence swept over the room, soft and mournful. It struck Minimus’s spark and made it twist in its casing. Clenching his fist, Minimus forced the feeling back.

“There will never be a time that we do not feel the weight of our mistakes. We all have regrets. But as we greet another year of peace, I ask that you do not let those regrets keep you from contentment. That you mourn, and grieve, but continue also.” Megatron looked over the seated mechs. “Let us not forget the lost, but let us not lose ourselves to them as well.

“As we turn towards peace, we must live in the present, and the future. Not the past.” Megatron paused, and his smile became slightly softer. “Let us make of ourselves a new and peaceful Cybertron.”

Minimus did not clap with the rest, but he appreciated the somber brevity of Megatron’s speech.

Then, to Minimus’s discomfort, it came time to sit down at a table and eat food and make strained conversation with whoever he had the bad luck to be seated with.

Minimus waited until half the crowd had trickled from the hall to the next room before stepping away from his pillar. The almost imperceptible rustle of plating reminded Minimus of Ravage’s presence.

Turning to the beastformer, Minimus said, “Thank you for the stimulating conversation.” It was only polite to acknowledge someone before taking your leave.

Ravage tilted his head. “You seemed rather in need of it.” Ravage’s optics glittered with wry humor.

Minimus pursed his lips. “I hope you have a good dinner,” he said politely, because he was taught manners, unlike some people.

“I'll be sure to.”

Minimus resisted the urge to huff and walked away as briskly as he could without appearing rude. He thought he heard a low chuckle behind his back, but by then he had stepped into the flow of the crowd and couldn't be sure.

“Minimus! Hey.” A servo grabbed Minimus's shoulder, and Minimus turned to Rodimus with a suppressed sigh. The young Prime grinned. “I was wondering if you wanted to sit at my table; Drift and I want to quiz you on loopholes in the law.”

Minimus frowned. “That wouldn't be very–”

Rodimus pulled Minimus along behind him. “I think Drift also managed to grab Fortress Maximus, so he can back you up when you forget something.”

Sighing heavily, Minimus resigned himself to being ignored. Glancing back, Minimus thought he saw a flick of black slide into the shadows by the pillar he'd been standing at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to know my reader's thoughts, so if you can, drop a comment to let me know what you think. Even a few words is very encouraging :))


	2. Second Meetings

In the two and a half months since the First Year of Peace, the crime rate had risen back to its usual rates. Disappointing, but not unexpected.

Minimus tapped his stylus against his lips, blindly watching Topspin wrestle a rowdy drunk into the bullpen. There was a word he needed for his report, just on the tip of his tongue. He was about to turn and ask Twin Twist when he remembered it.

"Ah!" Minimus quickly bent over his datapad and continued his report.

Twin Twist looked up from his monitor, brows raised. Minimus waved him off. The ex-Wrecker just scoffed and went back to his work.

The mechs at the Debris station thought Minimus was odd at best, useless at worst. Springer was the only one privy to the knowledge that Minimus had once been Ultra Magnus, and he thankfully made good use of Minimus’s various skills.

Bent over his desk, Minimus’s careful posture slowly deteriorated as he wrote out the results of the street-racing incident last night. No one had been too injured, but a few racers drove into walls in their attempt to escape the police. Then a Wrecker or two had twisted a cog laughing.

Minimus usually had a far more administrative role in the Debris station, but they'd been short on mechs last night and Minimus was available to join the chase (he was not one of the mechs who drove into a wall).

It had been, Minimus admitted to himself, rather thrilling to be back in the field, even if it was only to chase down illegal street-racers. The high-speed use of his secondary armor’s minesweeper alt had left him breathing hard but refreshingly adrenaline-filled.

The hard use of the secondary armor’s engine had forced Minimus to leave it behind today. The mechs at the Debris station were, by now, somewhat accustomed to their lieutenant sometimes arriving at work significantly smaller than usual. Roadbuster, in particular, seemed to find Minimus’s smaller size more reassuring; the quiet ex-Wrecker became slightly more talkative when Minimus showed up to work without the armor.

Minimus wouldn't admit to being slightly unsettled by most of his coworkers. A significant amount of the mechs working at the Debris station were once Wreckers, and Minimus knew that most of those mechs in particular were finding it difficult to adjust to peacetime. He worried that some, such as Roadbuster, only joined the police so they could have an outlet for their pent up violence.

When he'd brought up those concerns to Springer, the unit captain had said he had the same concerns, and that he would make sure nothing terribly illegal happened. Minimus had been somewhat reassured, but certainly not enough that he let any of the ex-Wreckers go out without someone with more morals and fewer violent tendencies.

Glancing up, Minimus watched Impactor brandish his harpoon arm at one of the louder inmates. The drunken prisoner quickly quieted down.

Yes, Minimus thought, concern was definitely warranted.

Crossing his legs at the ankle, Minimus bent over his report and wrote down the last few sentences. Then he went over the whole draft, editing whatever sounded a touch too informal. It didn't take long, and while Minimus was quite aware that he ought to rewrite the whole thing with the draft as reference, he was feeling rather rebellious today. Perhaps it was the remaining excitement from last night.

“Hey, Minimus?”

Minimus looked up to see Hubcap holding a datapad in his servos. “Yes?”

“Could you check this over for me? You know, fix it up, and then maybe put it in to Springer?” Hubcap smiled ruefully. “I never trust my own editing.”

“Yes, of course.” Minimus took the datapad. “If you like, I could give you some tips on how to better write reports and official documents.”

Hubcap shook his head. His smile took on a slightly fixed quality. “I'm good for now, just need this one thing.”

Like he'd needed someone to file all the numbers for his closed cases two weeks ago because he'd already gotten involved with a new one. Like all those other times he'd left something on Minimus’s desk for Minimus to finish up.

Minimus didn't mind, really. If he did it, it was more likely to be done properly.

“Very well.” Minimus nodded to the other mech and turned back to his work, placing Hubcap’s datapad beside his own almost-finished report.

By the time Minimus got out of work in the late evening, he'd finished his report, fixed up Hubcap’s, edited Twin Twist’s, filed away the numerous reports that no one else had wanted to file and had thus left with Minimus because he wouldn't complain, and vetted the profiles of those hopefuls who wanted to get into the Debris station. It was good to see that there was enough of a surplus in law enforcement that mecha could actually request to be stationed somewhere in particular.

Minimus took his dinner at a bar midway between his flat and the station. Bars were very rarely Minimus’s venue, but he'd begun to acclimatize himself to them in the previous months; they were the only sort places that served food past midnight, and Minimus had found himself working late quite a few times in the past year.

It was better than trying to fix himself something at home, or eating the high-nutrition stuff that passed for energon and tasted more like the rations Minimus had drunk for centuries.

He took a seat at the bar and ordered nickel energon and copper en-rolls. The rolls were, perhaps, an indulgence, but Minimus thought he deserved a treat. But perhaps deserve was too strong a word…

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his food. Minimus gave the barmech a nod of thanks, and took a sip of his energon. The nickel mixed in made the mixture rather thick, and gave it a pleasant tang Minimus didn't realize he'd missed until he started having it again.

Much had been lost in the war, Minimus thought dryly, but the culinary art was one which remained prominent.

Bracing his elbows on the appreciably clean bar, Minimus looked about the rustic establishment. The hour was late, but the place had its fair share of customers. A rowdy group sat at a large table, making noise but no trouble while what looked like a group of scientists sat with their datapads and papers scattered amongst several alcoholic beverages. There seemed to be something shady going down in the far booth, but Minimus didn't want his biases to cloud what could be a very legal meeting.

“-got a trick that'll win just about any fight.”

“Frag off, you couldn't win slag in a fight.”

“Yeah! Couldn't even get close enough to land a punch!”

Minimus sighed and tuned out the light-hearted arguing, even as the volume began to rise as the one mech defended his position vehemently.

Sipping his energon, Minimus considered what he'd have to do tomorrow. There were always things to do about the Debris station, particularly for Minimus’s rank. He’d left off accepting any of those transfer requests, but several of them were promising, if inexperienced. He'd have to partner them with less overbearing mecha– putting a rookie with a Wrecker like Roadbuster was just asking for trouble.

That Strongarm femme had sounded particularly promising. Minimus wouldn't mind taking her under his own wing if he didn't have other things to do.

“I ain't lying! Come on, you're all slagtards.”

“I wouldn't believe a word outta your mouth that tries to make you look good. You’re always makin’ slag up, weak ass fragger.”

Sighing heavily, Minimus glanced over his shoulder at the rousing quarrel in time to see the first punch thrown. The group immediately descended into chaos as friends grabbed at one another to keep from joining the fray.

The bartender's voice cut through the rising shouts. "Take that outside, I don't want any o' that slag in my establishment, you got me?"

A grey grounder wiped a streak of energon from below his nose and said, "You an' me, outside, come on." He jabbed his finger at someone Minimus couldn't see from his vantage point.

The whole group bustled outside, hooting and hollering for a fight. Minimus watched them go wearily, already reaching for his energon so he could finish it off and follow them.

By the time Minimus reached the group some several meters away from the bar, they'd nearly gone from the stand-off stage of a fistfight to the introductory-punches stage.

“Alright,” Minimus said as he jogged up, “That’s enough.”

The two mechs at the center of the eager onlookers turned to look at him.

“How the frag’s any of this your business, minibot?” said a big green truck– the one who'd been insulted, presumably.

Minimus lifted a servo, flashing the hologram of his badge. “If you continue as you are, you'll be committing several offenses,” Minimus said, looking sternly up at the green mech.

The mech shared a look with a few of his companions, and then laughed. “What, you think you can stop me, pipsqueak?”

“If you don't stop voluntarily, I'll simply have to call backup and detain you for disrespecting the law as well as your other offenses.”

The grey mech, still bleeding from the nose, snorted. “Tch, like we gonna listen to fraggin’ coppers. Don't gotta do slag you say, minibot. All you cops are jus’ trying to find an excuse to lock us up.”

A chorus of agreements came from the rest of the group. “Yeah!” “Yeah, he’s right.” “Fraggin’ coppers aren't worth slag.” “Primus, I wanna punch that little mini.”

Minimus frowned. This was getting out of hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but the green truck cut him off.

“You can't do anything to stop me from doin’ what I want, mini. In fact, I got a couple fists that’ve been lookin’ to punch something, and it looks like I got a new target.”

“If you assault a police officer, you'll be–” Minimus was cut off again.

“Hey, mechs, why don't I show you all that trick I was talking about?” The green truck spread his hands, grinning widely.

“What, on the mini? Mech don't even got any kibble on him,” said some mech from the group of onlookers. “Yeah, I don't see any headlights or wheels,” said another.

Minimus had a slowly dawning realization as to what the green mech’s special trick was.

“Then I guess we’d better find out what you turn into, minibot.” The green mech bared his teeth.

The first punch was clear to see, but Minimus was almost too surprised to dodge it. He managed, but the mech’s greater fist clipped his shoulder, sending Minimus crashing to the ground. In moments, the green mech was on him, and two thick digits dug painfully into the plating of Minimus’s side.

Something clicked, and against his will, Minimus found his plating shifting through his transformation sequence.

“Ha! Hey, it work–” the green mech stopped abruptly, and then burst out laughing. “A turbofox?! You turn into a fraggin’ turbofox!? You aren't a copper, you're a fraggin’ _animal_!” The green mech accompanied the last word with a hard punch that sent the air rushing from Minimus’s lungs and pain lancing down his side.

Minimus tried to open his comm, but the green mech reached under Minimus’s jaw and pulled out the delicate component that served as his transmitter.

“Beasts like you shouldn't even have access to comms,” the green mech snarled. Minimus wondered how much of his anger was beastformer-phobic and how much was drunkenness.

“You are assaulting an officer of–” he tried to say.

A servo wrapped about the unfamiliar protrusion of Minimus's muzzle. “Shut up, beast,” the green mech growled.

For the first time in a long time, Minimus felt fear.

Ravage knew he wasn't adjusting to peace-time as gracefully as some. Life without struggle was foreign to one such as he– physical struggle, that is. Megatron seemed rather pleased with his progress so far, however, and Soundwave had commended him for managing a polite conversation with someone other than Megatron, Soundwave, or his unit.

It's a step in the right direction, Soundwave had said, radiating pride.

Slinking through the shadows, Ravage avoided the bright pools cast by the streetlights, intent on going… somewhere.

He didn't have any work, at the moment. Working as a spy meant that work was sporadic, at best. Still, it was the only skillset Ravage had besides killing, and it had been impressed upon Ravage that he shouldn't go around killing people unsanctioned. Not that he'd ever done that in the first place. Killing was a job, not a pleasure.

There were things that came along with jobs like killing and spying. Things like knowing, very intimately, the taste and scent of energon on his tongue.

Ravage paused, lifting his head and opening his mouth. The taste of energon hung heavy in the air, settling at the back of Ravage's throat.

Fights weren't uncommon, and he might have continued in his wanderings had the scent not carried with it something familiar. Familiar enough to be worth his attention.

Ravage took note of the sounds around him as he followed the heady trail of energon. The area was downtown, not a redlight district, but apparently rough enough for someone to be injured. Then again, everything was rough these days. Old animosities die hard.

Ravage kept to the walls and the shadows as he went, wary of remaining threats. Every step as soundless as the last, Ravage tracked the scent of energon to a shadowed alleyway. Streaks of energon marked the ground where the mech, whoever they were, had dragged themselves into the shelter of the darkness.

Stepping into the narrow alley, Ravage heard the heavy rasp of another’s breathing. The unknown mech's scent was stronger, now; a cool, minty taste that turned bitter where it mingled with energon.

Ravage walked deeper into the alley, his ears pricked for any sound besides the rasping breathing. Nothing, except for the hum of the city.

The source of the breathing and the energon lay behind a large dumpster, which was largely filled with containers and other trash. Ravage was glad that energon-based products did not spoil quickly– the smell of the dumpsters on most organic planets was enough to make him gag.

He looked around the dumpster, and stifled any reaction that might have given away his surprise.

Curled against the dirty, rough wall and the stained metal dumpster, a turbofox beastformer lay bleeding.

The protective fury that rushed through Ravage was so strong he almost didn't make the connection between the beastformer's colors and his scent. When he did, Ravage felt a tinge of irritation join his fury; Minimus Ambus, a beastformer. How ironic.

Creeping closer, low to the ground, Ravage took stock of the smaller bot's injuries; a wrenched foreleg, several dents, and a few of the plates that made up his ruff seemed to have been torn out. A deep dent just over Minimus's t-cog made it clear that his transformation had not been voluntary.

For a moment, Ravage considered calling one of Minimus's colleagues and leaving them the mech's location. He halted that train of thought quickly; if Ravage, one of Soundwave's closest associates, didn't know of Minimus's altmode, then the mech had put a great deal of effort into keeping it a secret.

Loyalty to his own kind was not something Ravage exercised– beastformers were no less corrupt than 'normal' mecha. But he knew the importance of secrets, was familiar with the shame that came with a beastmode.

Bending his head, Ravage nudged Minimus's snout with his nose. He realized, too late, that there were dents there; deep, vicious dents, so obviously formed by digits, wrapped around Minimus's snout. Muzzling him.

Minimus let out a whine at the contact, high and pained. The fury in Ravage's chest flared up again. As much as he didn't like Minimus, didn't like that he hid his true form, he didn't want to see a beastformer treated like this. Especially when they couldn't defend themselves.

“Minimus,” Ravage said, and he nosed at the beastformer’s head again, taking care to avoid the dents. Minimus’s optics squeezed shut as he shied away from the touch. Well, that meant he was waking up. “Minimus, open your optics.”

Minimus pulled his limbs closer and tried to curl up. A sound of pain escaped him, and his optics flashed online.

“What's happening? Comms are down, we need to contact base.” Minimus’s words were slurred by pain and fever, a babbling that Ravage found almost amusing.

“I'm afraid the war is over. It's only me.” Ravage backed off, letting Minimus take a good look at him. The smaller beastformer squinted, optics bleary before they lit with recognition.

“Ravage? How did you–” Minimus tried to stand, only for his bad leg to collapse beneath him. Minimus stared down at it, then at the rest of his frame, and his situation seemed to dawn on him. Wordless, he looked up at Ravage.

“I smelled the energon.” Ravage said. “It seems someone didn't take well to your altmode.”

“Or my profession.” Minimus tried again to get to his pedes, leaning heavily against the dumpster. His legs trembled beneath him, wrenched foreleg was held tentatively in the air. His audials lay flat against his head, his tail tucked between his legs. He looked incredibly unbalanced in more ways than one.

Ravage wondered how long it had been since Minimus had been in this form.

"Is your residence nearby?" Ravage asked.

"It should be, yes." Minimus tested his balance, then leaned against the side of the dumpster again. "Thank you for finding me, Ravage, but I believe I'll be quite alright from here on out."

Ravage considered the small mech's injuries, the way he curled into himself. With a sigh, Ravage resigned himself to his bout of altruism and said, "Lean against me, I'll help you to your apartment."

Minimus shook his head. "No, I'll be alright."

"You won't be getting anywhere fast with that leg of yours." Ravage took a measured step closer. "Don't worry, I've already made the decision not to tell anyone about this."

"This?" Minimus blinked, his red optics large and guileless.

Ravage gritted his teeth. "Your altmode."

"Ah. Hm, very kind of you." The turbofox's head tilted quizzically. "You aren't known for your honesty, however. How do I know you're telling the truth? You're in a position to blackmail me now."

"I won't."

"How can I know that?"

"You can't." Ravage closed his eyes against a flare of irritation. This whole thing was looking less and less worth it by the second.

Minimus seemed to consider it for a moment more. At last, he nodded. "Very well, I trust you to get me home safely. How are we going to do this?"

Trust? Foolish little fox, using words like 'trust'. Ravage shook away his unease and stepped forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going through the old chapters and making new ones is half re-writing the paragraph with reference and half copy-pasting and editing where necessary  
I'm super pleased to see the positive reaction to yesterday's chapter, so I'm posting up this one today for encouragement and incentive :)) as always, comments requested, kudos welcome


	3. Recuperation

It took a long time to get back to Minimus's apartment building. Ravage's shoulders were higher than Minimus's, making it awkward to lean against the felinoid, and transformation was next to impossible with Minimus's injuries.

Minimus limped along awkwardly, unused to walking in this form. By the time they finally reached Minimus’s building, Minimus was absolutely exhausted and he had the feeling that Ravage was very annoyed.

“What floor are you on?” Ravage asked, steering them towards the back entrance.

“The first floor.” Minimus replied, his voice weak as he worked hard to take air into his overheating frame.

Ravage made a sound of acknowledgment. “We’re taking the stairs, then. It'll be hard, but you don't want to be caught on the lift cameras.”

Minimus felt his weariness increase at the thought of climbing a flight of stairs, even if it was only one floor up. “Alright.”

Ravage leaned Minimus against the wall by the door before turning his attention to it. Interested, Minimus watched carefully as Ravage picked open the lock with his tail before opening the door by laying his paw on the touch contact.

Dropping back down onto all fours, Ravage turned his gaze toward Minimus. Minimus jerked his head back slightly, somewhat embarrassed to be caught staring. Doing so unbalanced him, and Minimus would have fallen over had Ravage not steadied him with a clawed servo.

“I'm losing patience,” was all Ravage had to say.

Minimus hobbled through the open door and swayed unsteadily when Ravage stepped away to push the door shut. Then they were back to their stilted gait as Minimus struggled to match Ravage’s long-legged strides.

Minimus would like to say that he had very little idea of where the cameras in his building were, but he was, in fact, hyper-aware of them. He'd been going after management for ages trying to make them get new ones that didn't have such massive blindspots.

Now, though, those blindspots came in handy. Ravage appeared quite proficient in figuring out where they were– good, because Minimus didn't think he had the breath to explain.

The stairs seemed infinitely higher than they'd been last time Minimus had taken them (which he did regularly, because it was more economic than taking the lift). The distance up to the first flight also seemed far greater.

“Lean against the wall, it'll be easier.” Ravage instructed, voice low.

Transferring his weight over until he leant heavily against the wall, Minimus began to arduous task of climbing the stairs. His shoulder and hip scraped against the plaster of the wall as he went. A few times Minimus thought he might fall back as he reared up just a little too much.

Ravage stood just behind him all the while, his shoulder to Minimus’s hip, steadying Minimus whenever he stumbled.

It took a dreadfully long time to get up the stairs– from there the walk to Minimus’s door was easy in comparison. Minimus even managed to limp along by his own power for most of that trip. He felt inordinately proud of that fact.

Then they were at his door. Minimus realized that he wasn't tall enough to reach the lock in this form, even if he hadn't been injured. Before he had a chance to voice this, Ravage reared up on his hind legs and opened the door, much as he had the door they'd gotten into the building through.

“Must you?” Minimus said indignantly.

Ravage pushed open the door and dropped onto all fours, giving Minimus an unimpressed look. “I didn't see you opening it,” he said flatly.

Minimus felt the layered plating about his neck bristle outwards, but any poor retort he might have made was useless when Ravage walked into the open door, leaving Minimus to limp along behind.

The interior of Minimus’s flat was as he'd left it. He'd not left any lights on, but his optics saw shades better in this form, albeit at the sacrifice of colors. Minimus tried to ping the lights on, only to remember that his comm. transmitter had been torn out by that green grounder.

The thought made him realize all his other injuries, and the exhaustion that now fully permeated him now that he was in a safe place. Sighing heavily, Minimus gave in to it and slumped to the ground, curling as best he could about his injured leg as his various dents smarted and ached.

Minimus let his optics fade offline, listening to the near imperceptible sounds of Ravage moving about. What was he doing, Minimus wondered? He didn’t have the energy to open his optics and look.

"I'd rather not grab you by the scruff like a kitling." Ravage's voice broke through the fog in Minimus's head. "Come on, there's not far to go."

Opening his optics, Minimus looked toward Ravage. The dark felinoid had taken the cushions off Minimus's couch and arranged them at the foot of the couch.

Why exactly was Ravage doing this? Minimus thought, staring blearily at the haphazard pile of cushions and pillows. Pity, perhaps? He hadn’t thought Ravage capable of pity, to be quite honest. Though he’d never really given Ravage much thought at all.

Perhaps it was merely one of those random impulses that people had. Minimus didn’t like to think himself susceptible to random impulses.

Ravage tilted his head and made a low, throaty sound, catching Minimus's wandering attention. Minimus dragged himself to his pedes and over to the nest of cushions. He dropped onto the pile with a groan. There was little better than the bliss of falling into a soft surface when exhausted.

"Do you have a personal medic?" Ravage asked, his voice slicing through the fog of Minimus's fatigue yet again.

"Ultra Magnus's personal medic." Minimus closed his optics, sinking further into the cushions. "Ratchet doesn't know about this."

Ravage made a sound like a growl, deep and irritated. "Your altmode, you mean. Your shameful altmode."

"Yes." Minimus was far too tired to keep up this conversation. "Thank you for your help, Ravage."

If the felinoid had anything to say in reply, Minimus didn't hear it; he was already in recharge.

Ravage stared down at the recharging turbofox and felt his irritation fade slightly. Minimus had been raised into his worldviews, as Functionist as they were. An explanation, but not an excuse. Had Ultra Magnus ever acted out a bias against beastformers? Perhaps, but certainly not in the past few million years, which was Minimus's tenure as Magnus, so far as Ravage knew.

Ravage didn't begrudge Minimus for hiding. So many had, before the Decepticons. Ravage was bitter, though, that Minimus had not, when the time came, chosen the side that would have accepted him. What could the Decepticons have managed with an Ambus within their ranks? Could they have used that influence to get what they wanted quicker, more painlessly?

But the war was over, as Ravage was always reminded. There was nothing to be done now that could change what had been done in the past.

And what would it have done, anyway? It would have done nothing but make the Decepticons look worse as they seduced an Ambus to their Cause, would have only exposed Minimus and his altmode to the harsh world of Functionism.

“Thinking too hard,” Ravage growled to himself, focusing firmly on the present. Namely, would he remain in Minimus’s residence or leave for his own?

There wasn't really much of a decision to make there. Ravage’s flat was an inconvenient distance away, and it had taken a long time to get Minimus here. After first checking that the front door was closed and locked, Ravage pulled a few cushions of his own from the pile Minimus lay on. Arranging them to his satisfaction, Ravage circled about himself and lay down.

The lights of the city and Cybertron’s second moon streamed through the window, filtered in silvers and greys. Ravage considered the way it fell across the floor, over his own frame and over Minimus’s, turning his black plating to grey and Minimus’s white to shining silver.

It was a pity, Ravage thought. Minimus would have made a fine Decepticon.

Ravage wasn't quite sure when he'd gone from watching the moonlight to recharging, but the transition from recharge to wakefulness was sharp and sudden as he jolted at the sound of knocking on the front door. The moonlight was now sunlight, and it took Ravage mere moments to orient himself.

“Hey Minimus, are you home?” called whoever was knocking on the door.

Checking his chronometer, Ravage found that it was half past eight. Minimus should have been at work by now.

Another round of knocking, slightly louder.

“Minimus, you in there?”

Plating rustled against cloth as Minimus began to stir. “Mmh, what?” He lifted his helm, calling back in a hoarse voice, “Hubcap?”

“Minimus! Hey, it's eight thirty-two. I tried comm-ing you but you wouldn't answer.”

Minimus’s optics flashed online, his ears pricking up so fast that Ravage found it comical. “Eight thirty–” Minimus made to push himself up, and his injured leg buckled underneath him. A sound of pain broke from Minimus’s mouth. The mech behind the door paused.

“Minimus, you okay?”

“I-I’m fine.” Minimus didn't look fine, and a whine struck a high-pitched note through his voice as he spoke. “I'm afraid I took ill last night and forgot to call in.”

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.” Hubcap didn't sound too sorry, in Ravage’s opinion. “I'll tell Springer you're sick and won't be coming in. I'm sure we can deal without you for one day.”

“That would be very kind of you.” Minimus said.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Minimus. Hope you get well soon.”

Ravage listened to the sound of crisp footsteps carrying Minimus’s colleague away.

"Are you going to report the attack?" Ravage asked.

Minimus jumped, his plating flaring. "Rava- you're still here?" His tail flicked from side to side. "I thought you had left."

Ravage sniffed dismissively. "I considered it, until I realized you couldn't possibly repair yourself on your own."

Minimus balked visibly at the realization. “Oh, yes.” His whole frame appeared to droop like a wilted flower. “I- oh…” Distress marked Minimus’s frame. His optics flared with despair.

"Fear not, little Autobot." Ravage flicked an ear. "I have considerable medical experience, and I know my way around a beast frame."

Minimus looked down at Ravage's clawed paws in obvious confusion.

"I am not without a t-cog," Ravage growled. "I am no insentient animal despite my preferred form."

"My apologies." Minimus's ears flattened to his helm, and he dipped his head apologetically.

Ravage shook his head, glancing around the small apartment. It was rather simply furnished, and the kitchenette attached to the plain living room looked clean and little-used. There was a door that Ravage guessed led to the bedroom and its adjoining washracks.

"Where do you keep your first aid kit?" Ravage asked, unwilling to use the rather expansive kit in his own subspace.

"Washracks, bottom cabinet," Minimus replied, blinking bemusedly.

Ravage rose from his nest of cushions. He took a moment to stretch, flexing his claws and flicking his tail. At a languid pace (Minimus wasn't going anywhere) Ravage made his way to the bedroom door. The door opened easily, though it squeaked on its hinges.

The bedroom was just as plain as the living room, with a simple berth and desk setup. The only oddity was the suit of armor sitting on a chair by the desk. Ravage recognized it as the armor that Minimus usually wore. The empty, dark optics sent a shiver down Ravage's spine.

Finding the first aid kit was easy. When Ravage returned to the living room, Minimus had somehow managed to get himself from the cushions over to the kitchenette. He was staring up at the countertop over his head, where the energon dispenser sat.

"What are you doing?" Ravage asked once he'd set the first aid kit down on the cushions.

Minimus looked over his shoulder. "Oh, well, I thought I should offer energon. It's only polite."

“I doubt you could get up on that countertop in your state.” Ravage sat down and tapped a paw on the cushions imperiously. “Come here. You can play the gracious host later.”

Minimus bristled but obeyed, limping over with his wrenched leg held in the air. He pulled himself up onto the cushions and sat with his ears pricked.

Ravage transformed. The cycle of shifting plating and working gears was refreshing. He hadn’t transformed in a few years– and then only for a short time in order to keep his t-cog in good shape.

Flexing his digits, Ravage took a moment to get used to this form again before he reached for the first aid kit. Sitting down cross-legged, Ravage set the kit in his lap and opened it. It was well stocked, though not as elaborate as his own.

Taking the dent stylus from its place, Ravage said, “Would you rather I repair your leg first or fix the dents?”

"The leg." Minimus said.

Good choice. Mobility was more important than cosmetics on the battlefield.

Ravage put the stylus down and set the kit aside, sitting up on his knees. “Leg,” he said, reaching out.

Minimus tentatively uncurled his leg from where he held it to his frame. Ravage took the limb and slowly stretched it out.

“Is the damage in the elbow or shoulder?” Ravage asked.

“Shoulder.”

Ravage reached his digits under the pauldron that concealed Minimus’s shoulder, feeling for the wrenched mechanisms. When he found them, Ravage had no qualms with snapping them back into place.

Minimus let out a yelp, jerking away. "A little warning, please!" he exclaimed.

Ravage pulled his servo out of the smaller mech's plating. "Maybe next time." He pulled his dent stylus from subspace. Gripping Minimus's jaw, he began to work on the digit marks that dented Minimus's muzzle.

"So will you report it?" Ravage repeated the question he'd asked earlier.

Minimus glanced up at Ravage, then looked away. "I'll give an anonymous report."

Ravage frowned. "So you won't report it."

"What I do is none of your business." The plates about Minimus's neck flared defensively.

"I think it is, given I'm sitting here fixing you up," Ravage said. Minimus only twitched away. Ravage tried another tactic. "They took offense at your profession first, why not report them for assaulting a police officer?”

“Because arrests would be made, and they would–” Minimus cut off. His voice grew soft. “They would reveal my altmode to the precinct.”

Ravage raised a brow. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

"My problems are my own, Ravage." Minimus said in a hard voice. "I would thank you not to interfere."

Ravage huffed but let the subject drop, focusing on pulling out the dents. The dents in the delicate plating of Minimus's muzzle came out easily. Ravage released Minimus's jaw. His digits came away pink with congealed energon.

He cast Minimus a questioning look.

“The mech tore out my transmitter,” Minimus said in a tone that allowed no further comment on the matter.

Ravage turned his attention to the other dents on Minimus’s frame, fixing them all up with a clean efficiency. It made his spark seeth to see such signs of violence on another beastformer’s frame, despite the identity of said beastformer. Ravage had a protective streak that only rarely saw the light. That was what had led to him taking in Soundwave in the first place, teaching the outlier how to control his powerful senses, how to block out the thoughts of others.

Soundwave had changed a lot from that scattered, scared young mech Ravage had first come across millions of years ago. It made Ravage proud when he thought about it.

“I trust you’ve washed in your beast form at least once, because you’ll want to clean the energon away before you transform,” Ravage said when he’d finished pulling out all the dents. There was nothing to do about the plates that had been torn from Minimus’s scruff, not unless the mech went to a real medic about it.

“I have, yes.” Minimus admitted. "But only with- with someone else's help."

Ravage tilted his head quizzically. "Really, now?"

The turbofox shook his head. "I was young. I didn't know any better."

Ravage pushed down a surge of righteous fury. Minimus had not been the only young bot taught to hate his altmode. The Senate was gone, now, and Functionism with it for the most part. It wouldn't do to rage at a corpse.

"I've experience with cleaning a fellow beastformer's plating. I can help you," Ravage said, memories of helping Lazerbeak and Buzzsaw clean themselves flicking through his mind.

"Oh, no, you-you don't have too." Minimus shook his head.

"I won't leave a job half-finished," was all Ravage had to say. He'd committed himself to this; he'd see it all the way through.

Minimus's nose twitched. Ravage noticed, for the first time, the dark green markings under his nose, similar to the facial insignia he wore in bipedal mode.

"I suppose I'll have to offer you a cube when this is all over," Minimus said.

Ravage smirked. "It wouldn't go amiss."

Minimus turned away quickly, hopping down from the piled-high cushions. "I assume you remember where the washracks are," he said over his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plan was to post this on Friday. However (backstory here) I moved to America a few weeks ago and my family left for our home country this morning so I've been crying and stuff and I need something to cheer me up. And what better than to know that people are enjoying my writing :))  
I've reached the limit of pre-written chapters, and am now flexing my writing muscles to pull new chapters out the wazoo. It's fun, but what with moving, adjusting, and also starting a new job, updates may be slow.  
Comments and kudos appreciated :))


	4. To See Oneself

With his leg put back into place, Minimus could move much easier. Without the sharp pain and wrenched leg hampering him, Minimus found that his gait became smoother as his frame remembered how to walk in this form. ‘Like riding a bicycle’, Verity had said once. The wrenched mechanisms still ached, however, and they would for a few days unless Minimus took painkillers, which he wouldn't.

Ravage was no less silent in his bipedal form than in his altmode; his manner of walking reminded Minimus of mechs like Drift and Jazz. If he'd been a normal bot, Minimus would have compared his frame to the likes of Blurr.

In Minimus’s bedroom, he saw that his secondary armor did not appear to have been tampered with. That was reassuring, though Minimus would certainly check before putting the armor back on.

The cabinet in the washracks was open a crack, and Minimus took a moment to close it before he stepped into the tile-rimmed shower. Ravage stepped in as well, reaching out and turning on the water.

The water was already set to Minimus's preferred temperature. Minimus sighed with relief as the warm water began to ease away his aches and pains, and flared his plating to let the water wash him clean.

Ravage sat on his heels and extended a hand, a question in the quirk of his brow. Minimus glanced at the hand warily, but nodded.

Thin digits worked beneath Minimus’s overlapped plating, clearing out the energon and dirt that had gotten caught underneath. Ravage’s touch was quick and clinical, unlike Minimus’s faded memories of Dominus’s affection.

Minimus felt an ache fill his chest, more psychosomatic than physical. Thinking of Dominus hurt, it always did. Memories like these –of washing and grooming one another– were greyed by age, blue with wistfulness; memories from the expectations of the world were upon them, and Dominus had succeeded in meeting them while Minimus fell to the wayside.

Minimus shook his head to dispel his thoughts, and then his whole body. Water sprayed out in every direction, pattering against the tile walls and Ravage's plating.

"Hold still," Ravage scoffed, a wry note in his voice. He stood up a moment to grab the cloth and soap from the rack and then squatted down again. He scrubbed Minimus’s plating with hard, efficient sweeps.

“Alright,” Ravage said. “I got most of it. Transform and clean the rest yourself.”

Minimus did so. It felt better to be in his bipedal mode, less exposed, less vulnerable. He knew how to defend himself in this form.

Ravage pushed the soapy cloth into Minimus’s servo and, standing, turned his own frame to the spray of the showerhead. “Free shower,” he said upon seeing Minimus’s narrowed optics and pursed lips.

Ravage was a head and a half taller than Minimus when they were both in bipedal mode. Minimus took note of this as he scrubbed down his frame, clearing away the dirt and grime that Ravage had neglected. He would have to get those couch cushions washed, Minimus thought, watching the water beneath his feet grow clear.

Stepping out of the shower, Minimus took his towel from where it hung and dried himself down. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and quickly looked away.

Hoping that Ravage wouldn't break or steal anything (not that Minimus had anything worth stealing besides his armor) Minimus walked out to the kitchenette and set about preparing energon. There wasn't really much in the way of preparing it, but Minimus added the nickel flakes he liked to his own, and left Ravage’s plain.

He hesitated a moment before pouring Ravage’s energon into a shallow bowl, faint memories of his youth coming back to him in flashes.

Ravage was in his altmode when he entered the living room, as Minimus had assumed. Minimus set the bowl on the counter before one of the three stools he had placed there. No one but Minimus had ever sat on those stools; he never had guests over.

Ravage leapt up onto the stool in a single, smooth motion, balancing easily and sitting down.

"Thank you," Minimus said after several seconds of silence. He wrapped his digits around the mug he'd put his own energon in, a plain, tasteful blue one. "I'm not sure what state I would be in now if you hadn't stopped and helped me last night."

Ravage only nodded and lowered his head to lap at his energon. Minimus watched him for a time and considered the situation carefully. Considered the fact that Ravage held Minimus’s best kept secret, and could reveal it to anyone if he wished. Considered the fact that no one did anything for free, at least not in Minimus’s experience.

"What…" Minimus began slowly. "What do you want for compensation?"

That caught Ravage's attention. The felinoid looked up, optics narrowed. "What?"

Minimus doubted Ravage had misheard him or misunderstood him. Still, he elaborated. “To compensate for your time, or for keeping my altmode a secret. Whichever reason you choose.” Minimus scraped at the tiny chip on the rim of the mug. “What do you want for it?”

Ravage tilted his head. His optics flashed with something that Minimus couldn’t quite identify, but could only assume was negative.

“When was the last time you transformed, before this?” Ravage asked.

“The other day.”

Ravage frowned. “You–”

Minimus cut him off before he could ask. “When I transform in the armor, my irreducible frame also transforms.”

Ravage huffed. "When was the last time you took to your beast form, then."

Minimus thought about it, and then thought about it harder. He reached back into the depths of his memory. “Before I was given my secondary armor,” Minimus said at last. “A hundred or so years after I was Forged.” A very long time. How novel.

Ravage’s optics flared so bright that they seemed almost white for a moment. Behind him, his tail lashed from side to side like a whip.

“You haven’t been in your altmode since you were a hundred years old?!” The shock in Ravage’s voice was the most emotion Minimus had ever heard from him, besides some form of ire.

"That's as best a guess as I can manage," Minimus replied.

Ravage glowered down at his bowl of energon. "Perhaps it is worse that you were Forged into a higher standing," he said.

"I'm sorry?"

"My kind? We were put in these frames and sent into the world to endure the Functionist hatred it threw at us. It toughened us, embittered us. We all learned shame, and then we learned how to rise above it." Ravage's gaze was piercing as it met Minimus's. "But you never did."

Minimus frowned. "What of it?"

That set off a spark in the other beastformer. "What of it? Your House indoctrinated you so deeply that you never took to your altmode for millions of years! You only transformed because bigoted mechs forced you to and then beat you for it!” Ravage’s optics blazed with a righteous fury. “I fought a _war_ for mechs like us. But here you are, still clinging to the past, too ashamed to report your attackers for fear of being exposed.”

“The war is over,” Minimus said stiffly.

“And what has changed?” Ravage shook his head roughly. “Things are different, but they aren’t better.”

Minimus felt the atmosphere turn from angry to bitter. “None of us got what we wanted,” he agreed, thinking of his dream to become a great soldier and leader, worthy of the same glory that Dominus received. He’d gotten it, but it was all a lie anyway. Minimus Ambus was not a figure that history would remember, not even as Ultra Magnus.

Ravage let out a heavy sigh, the lashing of his tail subsiding. “No, we didn’t.” He looked at his bowl of energon, still half full. “I’ll cash in my compensation at a later date,” he said, leaping down from the stool and heading for the door.

Minimus watched him go. “I will see you then,” Minimus replied quietly.

The door opened and then shut, leaving Minimus in the oppressive silence of his own flat with a bowl on the table, cushions on the floor, and a resounding confusion in his head.

When Minimus came to work the next morning in his secondary armor, he was relieved to find that the station was still standing. He hadn’t taken a single day off since he started to work at the Debris station, and while Springer was competent, Minimus sometimes worried that the other mechs could be too rowdy to contain.

His desk was piled high with datapads. Even as he balked at the sight, Minimus felt some sense of relief; finally, some normalcy to offset the strangeness of the past couple days.

Turning from his overflowing desk, Minimus walked over to the door to Springer’s office and knocked.

“Come in,” came the captain’s voice from inside.

Springer’s office was far more orderly than Rodimus’s had ever been, but there was still a certain amount of aesthetic chaos that Minimus had never tolerated in his own offices when he was Ultra Magnus. Springer was a good leader, though, so Minimus let the offense slide.

Springer looked up from his datapad and offered a small smile.

“Minimus, welcome back.”

Minimus inclined his head. “Thank you, sir. My apologies for the inconvenience yesterday, it won’t happen again.”

Springer shook his helm, waving a servo. “You’ve worked your aft off since you started working here, you’ve more than earned a couple days off.”

“I’ll do my best not to make use of them.”

Springer shook his head again. “Dismissed,” he said.

Minimus snapped a quick salute before making his leave, righting a crooked shelf ornament as he walked past it. The door to Springer’s office closed behind him, and Minimus let out a quiet sigh before heading for his desk.

Slogging through the datapads on his desk was almost enjoyable. Minimus crossed one leg over the other and let his stiff posture relax as he worked.

He got quite a bit done, in Minimus’s humble opinion. He wrote up the duty rosters for the next week, got the contents of the evidence locker properly filed, and made sure that there had been no cases of misconduct. He even picked a few mecha from the applications.

Strongarm had significant promise, and Bulkhead too. Minimus selected Breacher because of his earnest attitude rather than his skill, and resolved to partner him with someone who wouldn't bully him too much.

The trainees would start their work at the beginning of next week, just four days away. Minimus worked them into the duty rosters (really, he should have done the applications before the rosters) and made sure that none of them were partnered with a particularly trigger-happy ex-Wrecker, like Roadbuster or Twin Twist. Given Roadbuster’s past, Minimus wouldn't put any rookie with him if he were the only mech available.

The day passed almost too quickly. Minimus sighed, shut down his terminal, and stretched.

Outside the station, Minimus transformed. The minesweeper alt of his secondary armor settled on its tires, and Minimus made his way over to Ratchet’s clinic. It was something of a drive, but Minimus didn't mind. It felt good to be active, to push the engine of his alt.

Stepping into Ratchet’s civilian clinic was different from stepping into his medbay. There was the same cold, clean scent of disinfectant. The same white walls. But then there were also a few pictures and decorations, an actual waiting room instead of a dim hall. A mirror hung on a wall of the hall leading to the examination rooms.

Minimus didn't recognize the mech behind the reception desk, but they gave him a welcoming smile, took his name, and directed him to sit.

“Ratchet will be done with his current patient in a few minutes,” they said.

Minimus sat down in a cold plastic chair. Twisting his digits in his lap, Minimus watched the clock on the wall tick.

At last, the door of the furthest examination room opened, releasing a heavy grounder that Minimus didn’t recognize. That was good. Last year, Minimus recognized almost everyone he came across. That he didn't recognize people now meant that the population was increasing.

“Next!” Ratchet’s voice rang out from within the examination room.

Minimus’s pace was as slow as he could make it without looking reluctant. Ratchet looked up from the desk, pinning Minimus in place with his stare.

“Minimus,” he said. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It's alright. Many appointments go a few minutes over the scheduled time.” Minimus sat down in the chair beside the desk.

“They do,” Ratchet agreed. He adjusted the datapads on his desk. “So, what are you looking for, here. A full checkup? Because I would recommend that. You haven't had one in months.”

Minimus shook his helm. “No, I'm not here for a checkup. I just-” he hesitated. “An incident occurred. I need you to replace my comms transmitter.”

Ratchet frowned. “You damaged your transmitter?”

“...Yes.”

Ratchet sighed. “Well, take off that armor and sit on the berth.”

Minimus deactivated the armor, his whole world going dark as his sensors disengaged from those of the armor. Then the front unlocked, and cold air rushed inside. Minimus shivered slightly and stepped out of the armor.

Plating slick to his frame to lock in his heat, Minimus walked over to the metal berth and pulled himself up onto it. His pedes dangled far from the ground. Minimus crossed them at the ankle to keep from kicking them like a youngling.

If he were sensible, Minimus would have gone to Ratchet yesterday to get his comm fixed instead of waiting a whole day. But yesterday was something of a blur once Ravage had left; all Minimus really remembered of it was scrubbing his flat and its contents within an inch of their lives.

Ratchet stepped around the desk and walked over. “Alright, let me take a look at it.”

Minimus braced his servos on the edge of the berth, allowing Ratchet to tilt his helm to the side, exposing the underside of his jaw.

“Minimus,” Ratchet said, a hard note in his voice. “Your transmitter isn’t damaged, it’s gone.” He stood back enough to pin Minimus with a singularly disapproving glare.

“So it is.” Minimus drummed his digits on the berth edge for a moment before stopping himself. “Can you replace it?”

Ratchet snorted. “I can replace it, yes. I wonder if I should, if you’re just going to get it torn out again. I know it was torn out,” he continued, his glare increasing. “You’re lucky whoever did this didn’t tear out an energon line with it.”

Minimus kept his expression placatingly blank. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Ratchet only shook his head and turned away, pulling out a few drawers from the extensive cabinet before he found what he was looking for.

“So how did it happen?” Ratchet asked, returning with a new transmitter. His movements were rough as he turned Minimus’s head to the side again, but Minimus didn’t hold it against the old medic. He’d been reassured many times that that was how Ratchet showed he cared.

“Consequences of the profession,” Minimus replied, staring at the far wall while digits and instruments worked beneath his plating.

“So they tore out your transmitter and left you well enough alone otherwise?”

Minimus looked at Ratchet’s shoulder and upper arm, which was all he could see of the medic. “I didn’t have a replacement transmitter in my first aid kit.”

Ratchet huffed. “Was that a joke? From Minimus Ambus?”

“If you want it to be.”

Another huff. “Why didn’t you come to the clinic? You soldiers may have first aid experience but that can’t measure up to actual medical training.”

“My first aid experience was more than serviceable.”

Ratchet let out a heavy sigh that washed uncomfortably over Minimus’s plating. “You aren’t Ultra Magnus anymore, Minimus. You don’t have to avoid your medic just to keep the Magnus armor a secret.”

“I know.” He had more secrets than just the armor, though. Sometimes, Minimus felt that he was just layer upon layer of secrets and deception. Like his layers of armor, built to conceal the disappointing truth that was Minimus Ambus.

“Hn.” Ratchet turned away to grab something from the trolley of instruments. “Have you been seeing Rung regularly, like I told you to?”

“Yes.” Once every two weeks, Minimus went to Rung’s small practice, lay on that berth, and tried to tell Rung what he wanted to hear. It didn’t seem to be working.

“The past year has been hard on everyone,” Ratchet said. “But I know the transition has been especially hard for you.”

“I’m quite aware of that, Ratchet, thank you for reminding me.”

Ratchet frowned as he pulled away, setting aside his various tools. “There’s no need to get prickly, Minimus. I’m your friend, and I care for your well being. I just want to see that you’re adjusting well to all the changes in your life.”

Ratchet was _Ultra Magnus's_ friend. Minimus was just the mech who'd worn that face, worn it for so long that when he looked in a mirror he thought he was looking at a stranger.

“I am adjusting well enough, thank you for the concern.” Minimus touched the fresh welds under his jaw, testing the transmitter with a brief ping. Ratchet responded with a ping of his own.

“And you’ve been going without the armor? Obviously, otherwise you wouldn’t have mysteriously gotten your transmitter torn out.” Ratchet walked around behind his desk. He typed something into the terminal.

“Obviously.” Minimus hopped down from the berth and strode over to the armor. Climbing inside, Minimus activated the locking mechanism. His whole world went dark for a few moments. Then Minimus’s processors made the connections. His optics lit, and Minimus stood from the chair.

“Thank you for the repairs, Ratchet,” he said.

Ratchet glanced up from his terminal. The perpetual scowl on his face softened slightly. “I’ll see you around, Minimus. Take care of yourself.”

“Of course.”

Minimus made his way out of the clinic, avoiding the gaze of his reflection in the mirror as he passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long; I started a new job recently, besides rediscovering another fic that I've been writing vigorously (it's being posted, tho, on the Ao3 account that my sister does know about).  
Hopefully once my erratic hours at work calm down, I'll have more of a rhythm for writing both this fic and my other one :)  
comments and kudos greatly appreciated, but thanks for reading anyway :D


	5. The Deal

It hadn't taken Ravage long to find the mechs who'd attacked Minimus Ambus. They'd been very loud about it, about how they'd exposed a beastformer for what it really was. Ravage would have struck then and there, but he waited. Patience was a trait every good spy needed.

When it became clear, some days later, that Minimus hadn't reported the attack, Ravage struck.

Ravage had a vicious streak. He wouldn't deny it, though he'd certainly deny that it ruled him. It was nice to give in to his more primal instincts on occasion. The kind that said to rip and tear and claw until all he could smell was bitter pain and all he could taste was fresh energon.

He left them alive, of course. Alive, and unaware of who attacked them, save that the individual was a beastformer. Ravage made no effort to hide the fact that his was a mission of vengeance. Hopefully those damn mechs knew it.

Seated comfortably on a rickety fire-escape, Ravage licked the mechs' spilled energon from his plating. An act that many, even beastformers, would consider repulsive. But Ravage had been sparked into a hungry world, and he’d never wash away what could be instead consumed.

Looking over the faraway street, Ravage considered his next move. There were altogether too many and too few moves to make. If he were thinking of this as a mission, he realized upon catching that train of thought.

Once, Ravage had lived his life one mission to the next. One goal to another. Ravage had devoted his life to the Cause, had thrown himself into pushing it forward. And now the Cause was gone, swept from beneath him, and he was stumbling, trying to catch himself before he fell.

At least Soundwave was doing well. He’d become a good leader for the Decepticons, standing beside Optimus Prime, working together with him to keep their respective factions in line while the whole of Cybertron rehabilitated itself towards a society without war as its foundation.

Ravage was proud of the mech he'd once called his ward. Soundwave was dearer than most, dearer than anyone else, and so it stung to feel his disappointment. Disappointment that Ravage could not move forward, could not step into the light with everyone else.

But Ravage was a mech who had always followed some guiding star, whether it be survival or keeping Soundwave alive or furthering the Cause. The abstract notion of peace, so soon after the Cause, seemed too great an endeavor to follow. No, he needed something smaller, something sure.

Small steps, Soundwave had said.

Ravage watched mechs pass by beneath him, his tongue still now that his frame was completely clean, his tanks slightly more full than before.

Small steps. A little star to follow until Ravage’s optics had adjusted to the darkness left in the absence of the Cause. Until he could choose a new, bigger star to guide him– some abstract notion like peace, something that Soundwave would be pleased by.

Ravage flexed his claws, so recently used. Used to avenge a beastformer who could neither defend nor understand himself– understand what he was.

Well, Ravage had been a teacher once; Soundwave was a great mech now.

A small, wry smirk made Ravage’s tail flick. Small steps indeed, if he were to keep pace with a little turbofox.

Minimus shut the door behind him as he stepped into his apartment. Work had been slow today– as slow as it could be in a police precinct managing two formerly warring factions.

It was a good first day for the rookies, though. Minimus had had the opportunity to speak with the promising young Strongarm, and it was nice to have his advice accepted with such enthusiasm. Minimus would have to remember not to be biased.

"Have you taken that armor off at all since I last saw you?"

Minimus had a blaster in his servos in nanokliks, turned and trained on the intruder sitting on his couch. Ravage tilted his head, optics glittering.

"Well have you?" he asked.

Gritting his teeth, Minimus put his gun away. He took a few deep breaths to settle his hard beating of his spark, waited for the adrenaline shakes to subside from his servos. “I haven’t found the need to,” he said at last.

Ravage let out a low hum that sounded more like a purr. "I've decided what I want as my 'compensation', as you called it."

Minimus tensed. "I see. What do you want, then?"

"I want to teach you."

Unexpected. Minimus frowned quizzically. "Teach me?"

“Yes.” Ravage stood and stretched. His long limbs reached out while his claws flexed and his tail lashed. He leapt down from the couch without a sound. “You’ve been hiding from your beast form since you were a century old. I want to teach you how to be a beastformer.” He paused. “Perhaps guide you would be a better word. But regardless, what I want as compensation is you learning to be what you are.”

There were far too many thoughts going through Minimus’s helm. ‘Nothing, I'm nothing,’ was the first to breach the surface.

"That's what you want?" Minimus asked, quiet and confused.

"Yes."

Minimus had been given a great many orders in his life, and had received many requests when he'd been Ultra Magnus. Offers of interface, of money, of resources, of favor. Many, many things, but nothing like this. Ravage could ask for anything– he knew how desperate Minimus was to keep his altmode a secret. He could ask anything of Minimus, and Minimus would have done his best to provide, but instead he wanted this?

It was probably some form of self-gratification. A selfish form of pity, so common in the world Minimus knew. Minimus was willing to indulge, if only because it was more harmless than most things Ravage could have asked for.

“Very well,” Minimus said. He straightened his back and clasped his servos behind his back in a shadow of parade rest. “When would you like to begin?”

Ravage's gaze seemed too knowing. “Whenever you like.”

Never. “I leave the decision to my self-appointed teacher,” Minimus replied

"Hm." Ravage blinked slowly. "Do you have any further duties today?"

"No," Minimus said, as much as he would have liked to lie and say yes.

"Take off that armor, then, and transform." Ravage’s optics took on a wry glint. “This will be the second time in as many weeks, after millennia of nothing. Must be a change.”

Minimus stepped around the felinoid and entered his berthroom. Sitting down at his desk, Minimus went about the process of removing the armor. He stepped out of it and onto the ground, turning back to close up its panels and latches.

“I don't get how you can stand to touch that,” Ravage said. He lounged in the doorway like melted plastic. Only his tail twitched as he pinned Minimus beneath his gaze. “It's like a mech recently deactivated.”

Minimus looked at the armor, his servos still resting on the cooling metal of its plating. “I suppose I'm accustomed to it,” he replied. If anything, this armor was more familiar to Minimus than his own frame. The Magnus armor more familiar still.

It was like a proportional graph, comparing the sizes of Minimus’s forms to the length of time used. His smallest form, his irreducible form, with the least amount of time utilized. His secondary armor, with some few million years of use. His Magnus armor, with many more millions of years spent living the life of Ultra Magnus. Like the Golden Spiral, spinning outwards in beautifully perfect proportion.

Not anymore, though. Minimus let his servos fall away from the armor and took a step back. Reduced himself to merely small, unremarkable Minimus Ambus. Desirable for his loadbearing abilities and nothing else.

Minimus turned to face Ravage, who only watched him placidly, cool, calm, and expectant.

Transforming felt no different than usual, not physically. The mere act, however, felt far more grievous.

Then it was over. Minimus shook his head, feeling the plates of his scruff and ears shake about. His tail swept over the floor, an unfamiliar limb that he still remembered how to control. It was so strange, and stranger still to be in this form voluntarily. This was not like that night several days ago, this was…

_“You are _not_ to transform outside this compound, do you understand?”_

Minimus looked to Ravage, still sprawled carelessly in the doorway. “What now?” Minimus asked. “I don’t assume you have a syllabus written up.”

Ravage laughed, low and purring. He rose to his paws languidly, rolling his shoulders. “Can you fight in this form?” he replied, tilting his head just barely.

Rearing back slightly, Minimus narrowed his optics. “No,” he said warily.

“Lesson one, learning how to fight a beast alt.” Ravage shifted his weight. “Attack me.”

Minimus hesitated, his ears folding back. “I’m not sure I–”

Ravage crossed the room in an instant. He had Minimus on his back less than half a second later. Minimus braced his servos against the larger mech’s chest, his claws flexing outward to score the polish on Ravage’s dark plating. He didn’t push, though, for fear of the incredibly sharp teeth pricking the cables beneath his jaw.

“Never assume your attacker will wait for you to make the first move.” Ravage said, pulling away enough to stare reproachfully down at Minimus.

“I did fight in the war,” Minimus said, irritation bleeding a growl into his words.

“As Ultra Magnus, a very large, intimidating, and physically strong mech.” Ravage stepped back, giving Minimus enough room to roll onto his paws. “You are a very small, unintimidating turbofox.”

Minimus huffed. “You needn’t remind me,” he muttered.

Ravage shook his head. “Your size can be to your advantage,” he said. “One point I must impress is that in a fight, the best option is to run. This is true for any hostile situation. Only idiots jump into a fight they don’t have a good chance of winning.”

Ravage took a small step forward. His tail came about like a whip. Minimus flinched back, all too aware of the tiny clink that marked the contact of Ravage’s sharp-ended tail with the plating of Minimus’s neck.

“You also have this. The layers of plating will help somewhat, but even the strongest armor will split under the right pressure.” The threat of Ravage’s weaponized tail fell away, but Minimus didn’t relax.

“Why are you teaching me to fight?” Minimus looked at Ravage from the corner of his optic. “The war is over.”

"The greater war is over, but we both know prejudices still remain. Do you want to be at the mercy of bigots again?" Ravage walked away in a diagonal path that ensured that he never truly turned his back to Minimus.

“You have more weapons in your altmode,” Ravage continued. “Your claws and your teeth cannot be disarmed without considerable effort.”

Minimus grimaced at the thought.

Ravage hummed, catching Minimus’s attention. Ravage flicked his tail to the open doorway. “Try to get through the door,” he said.

Minimus frowned, measuring the distance between Ravage and himself, between Ravage and the door. Minimus was by the corner of the berth furthest from the doorway; it was a straight shot to the door if Ravage, standing to the right, didn't make any moves.

Minimus highly doubted it would be that easy.

Pressing himself as low to the ground as he possibly could, for no other reason than instinct, Minimus took a tentative step forward. Ravage’s optics glittered, red and amused.

“There's no foliage to hide you here, little Autobot,” Ravage said. His weight shifted, and he settled lower to the ground. His tail flicked from side to side. He stared unrelentingly.

Minimus took another careful step. The sound of it was incredibly loud in the stifling silence. Ravage’s optics tracked Minimus through the next few steps.

There was no way Minimus would be getting through that doorway the first try. He had no idea of the options available to him, and little idea of what exactly Ravage could do. This first attempt would simply be a trial run, to assess Ravage’s methods.

However, Minimus considered, once Ravage deflected Minimus’s first attempt, he would likely take station directly before the door, which would make further attempts more difficult. There was nothing Minimus could do about that, though.

He dashed forward. For a moment, Minimus felt very strongly that he was not in his residential unit, post-war, but in his and Dominus’s rooms in the Ambus compound. Racing around in altmode because they didn't know any better.

Then a heavy weight bowled him over, effectively replacing that dim memory with the bruising present.

Minimus rolled clumsily to his pedes as he skidded across the floor, turning wide optics on the larger beastformer. Ravage only bared his teeth, amusement radiating off him in waves. He crouched between Minimus and the doorway.

“You aren't leaving until you get past me,” he said.

Well then, clearly Minimus would never escape this room.

If he'd been wearing the Magnus armor, he'd barrel forward and use his greater weight and significant combat training to force his way through. Minimus didn't have any of that now.

What he did have was speed, though Ravage was undoubtedly faster. Minimus considered Ravage’s larger frame, his longer legs and claws, the twitching of his tail.

Another trial run was required before any plans could be made. If this were anything other than a training exercise, he wouldn't be allowed to make repeated attempts. He had to be wary of Ravage (who undoubtedly knew this too) making some move to semi-permanently incapacitate, just to make a point.

He needed to gauge Ravage’s defensive methods, though he couldn't be sure Ravage would stay on the defensive.

Minimus took a few steps forward, his chest all but brushing the ground as he held himself flat and low. Ravage just watched him, barely moving but for his tail.

Minimus moved forward until he was a meter away, squarely before the larger beastformer. A few moments passed, long enough for Ravage to prepare himself for any contingency.

Darting forward, Minimus swiped at Ravage’s leg with his claws. A large claw swept out in answer, scoring over Minimus’s ear before Minimus pulled back as quickly as he could. Shaking his head, Minimus felt a twinge in the thin plating of his ear.

Minimus dove in again, made some swift offensive move that rarely actually hit Ravage, then retreated. He did this several times, retreating every time with some small nick on his plating. Throughout it all, he kept his attacks low, aimed at Ravage’s legs.

The attacks were as much to gauge Minimus’s own frame as they were to gauge Ravage. Minimus felt himself settling more into his frame, felt his movements coming easier and smoother. The weight of his tail felt less strange, the operation of his paws less foreign.

Falling back with energon beading from a slice on his muzzle, Minimus decided that he was, at last, ready. Or as ready as he could get.

Darting forward as he had before, Minimus leapt into the air. It was a gift of this frametype, to leap high and vertically. He and Dominus had done it often when they were young, pouncing on one another from unexpected angles.

The memories were faded, but Minimus’s frame had not forgotten.

Ravage reared up. Both of his claws lashed out to knock Minimus out of the air. His reflexes were as fast as Minimus had expected, but his claws only caught on the plates of Minimus’s tail as Minimus landed somewhat nimbly and darted between Ravage’s hind legs.

Minimus made it barely two seconds into the open before Ravage reached him. The air rushed out of Minimus's vents when the heavier mech collided with him. They rolled several times before finally coming to a halt, Minimus on his back with Ravage’s teeth at his throat.

A rumble vibrated through Ravage's chest and throat, seeping into Minimus's plating. "Good," Ravage purred, the prick of his fangs shifting slightly as he spoke. "But not good enough."

This was not unexpected; no victory could be as straightforward as Ravage had claimed. Even defeated, though, Minimus felt a prick of triumph; he'd made it through the door.

Ravage pulled back, allowing Minimus to roll onto his paws.

"You're adapting fast," Ravage said approvingly. "That trick will probably work with most bipedal mechs."

Minimus felt the layers of his ruff flare out under the unfamiliar praise. “What now?” he asked.

Ravage smirked. “Now? We have energon. I haven't eaten all day.”

Irritation flared. “Am I expected to feed you every time you come to my unit?” Minimus said, already walking towards the kitchenette.

“Of course not. Eventually, I plan to make you leave this place in your altmode.”

Minimus stopped, looking over his shoulder at Ravage. Something close to fear beat in Minimus’s spark. “Leave?” he repeated quietly.

Ravage's ears cocked to the side. "I won't let you hide away in your apartment like a kitling. The real world is best for learning."

Minimus transformed, his nervousness dispelled slightly by the surety of his bipedal form. “I'm not sure that's very wise,” he said, working automatically to fill a bowl and a mug with energon.

"Perhaps, but it's the best way for you to learn."

Ravage leapt up onto the stool, as he had days before. Minimus set the bowl before him, and sipped quietly from his own mug.

They both drank in silence. It didn't take very long; both of them had learned to drink their energon fast during the war. It was a difficult habit to break.

Ravage licked his bowl clean and turned away, jumping down from the stool in a ripple of shadow. "Transform," he ordered, "We're continuing."

Minimus set down his mug. He hesitated briefly before triggering his transformation sequence. Stepping around the kitchenette's island, Minimus stared warily at Ravage, standing loose and relaxed in the middle of the living room.

"Attack me," Ravage said, his optics flashing with challenge.

With nothing better to do, Minimus obeyed.

Hopefully Ravage would get whatever he wanted out of this before long, Minimus thought. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to stand continually transforming into this form.

It just wasn't right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've hit a serious writer's block with this fic, mainly because I wrote myself into a spot and then I realized I didn't think through what was actually going to happen, plus I've been working on another fic, and drawing, and work doesn't give me much free time.  
Comments please! you all are my only feedback for this :))


	6. Shadelock

“You’ve found something to occupy yourself.”

Ravage looked up, meeting Soundwave’s visor. Soundwave looked back. He held a glass of energon in his hand, and his mask had been retracted. Soundwave’s lips curved into something close to a teasing smile upon seeing the mild annoyance in Ravage’s optics.

“I have,” Ravage said, bending his head to lap at his own bowl of mildly flavored energon. He felt Soundwave’s mind brush against his own, a familiar touch.

Soundwave hummed. “I’m glad.” Silence fell for a moment, before Soundwave continued, “It’s a mech, yes? Why them?”

Ravage knew which thoughts Soundwave had brushed against, the half-formed shadows of memories. He didn’t mind it. Soundwave had wonderful gifts, and his precise control over them was something Ravage couldn’t help but be proud of.

Tilting his head, Ravage cast Soundwave a wry glance. “Why did I choose you?”

Soundwave’s smile was bright. It was good to see such a smile on his face. “Because you cared.”

Snorting, Ravage turned his face away. “Well, let’s not call it that for this particular case.”

Soundwave laughed, quiet and melodic. “I'm glad you're making a friend, Ravage.” 

“‘Friend’ is a bit of a stretch.”

“Voluntary companion, then.”

Ravage scoffed, and rolled his eyes. Soundwave laughed again. Ravage looked at the other mech, and felt something within him soften; Soundwave’s laugh was a rare thing to hear. Ravage always treasured it when he heard it.

“While we’re on the topic of voluntary companions,” Ravage said, raising a brow. “Why don't you tell me how it's been working closely with Optimus Prime.”

Soundwave grew still, and his silence would have been ominous but for his lack of mask; a faint blush stained his cheeks and nose.

Ravage smirked. “I thought so.”

"A very comprehensive report," Minimus said to Strongarm, handing the datapad over to her. "However, I suggest replacing the dashes with semicolons where appropriate; dashes are too informal for this type of document."

Strongarm clutched the datapad in her servos. "Of course, sir, thank you for the advice." She snapped a salute and walked away, leaving Minimus bemused but pleased.

If only everyone were as enthusiastic about proper report structure as Strongarm. Minimus wondered when he had last been that young, naive, eager to please. It had been a long time, probably.

A comm. request pinged. Minimus checked the ID: Springer.

::Sir?:: Minimus said, opening the comm. link.

::Please come to my office, Minimus.:: Springer said.

::Yes, sir.::

The link closed.

Minimus's first thought, as he turned off his monitor and made sure his datapads were sorted, was that Springer had somehow found out about… something. Was fraternizing with a former Decepticon worth a reprimand? No, Springer probably just had something to say about a recent case.

With a pensive frown, Minimus approached Springer's office and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Minimus stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "You wanted to see me, sir?" he said, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Yes.” Springer sighed heavily. “You are aware that our precinct roster doesn't quite fill every role.”

“Yes, sir.” Minimus nodded.

Springer clasped his servos and braced his elbows on his desk. The desk was full up with datapads, slightly better organized than the last time Minimus had seen it.

“I have hopes that some of our mechs can be trained in detective work,” Springer said. “Strongarm is promisingly perceptive, and a deductive thinker, but she's still too inexperienced.”

Minimus only nodded, and wondered what Springer was getting at.

“I've been informed that there's a couple high-profile criminals taking shelter in our area,” Springer said at last. “A corrupt medic and a Decepticon who never gave up his badge. We don't believe they're colluding together, but they're in the area.”

“What is being done to find them?”

Springer sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Since we don't have mechs to put on the case, Starscream has sent a bounty-hunter to find them.”

Minimus raised a brow. “A bounty-hunter.”

“Yes.” Springer plucked a datapad from the pile on his desk and slid it over. “His name is Shadelock. We’ve managed to get an agreement from him. He’ll be paid to find these bots, so long as he reports to you throughout his search.”

“Report to me, sir?”

"I know you have a lot on your plate right now, but you're the only one I can trust to manage this. It's a sensitive case; if the public hears about this…" Springer shook his head wearily. "We can't know what would happen."

Minimus nodded, lips pursed. “I understand sir. What are my expected duties concerning this… case?”

“He’ll report to you in the evening, regardless of findings or lack thereof. If he does find something, he’ll report that to you. He’s free to act on his own within the confines of the law and the case. All you need to do is know what he’s doing and, if need be, provide resources.”

“I understand, sir.”

Springer smiled the brief, small smile of a mech more accustomed to frowning as of late. “Thank you, Minimus.”

Minimus bowed his head shortly. “I’m only doing my duty, sir.” He reached out and took the datapad from Springer’s desk. “Am I to meet this mech in person?”

“Yes,” Springer nodded to the datapad. “That holds what information we’ve been given about him and the criminals in question. Shadelock be here towards the end of the shift.”

“Understood.”

Springer flicked a digit wearily, his attention already shifting to his desk. “Dismissed.”

Minimus returned to his desk and sat down, turning on the datapad that'd been given to him.

There wasn't much information on Shadelock. He'd been a Decepticon-aligned bounty-hunter during the war, and he hadn't discriminated between jobs. He seemed to have a very successful track record, but Minimus would have been more comfortable working with a better known bot; Devcon, perhaps, or Nightbeat if they were looking for an actual detective.

And the mech would be largely independent, which would ease Minimus's workload but leave this Shadelock character to his own devices.

Given the nature of the case, Minimus could probably call for a change to the investigative protocols if Shadelock stepped out of line.

The rest of his shift passed as usual. The amount of paperwork involved in police work may be disillusioning to some, but Minimus found it refreshingly familiar. Sometimes he missed being out on the field, but processing paperwork was less strenuous.

Minimus had lost track of time, but when he felt the prickle of a stare on the back of his neck, he looked up.

At the door was a dark blue mech whose image sat on the datapad at Minimus’s elbow. His gaze swept over the precinct once, twice, intense and perceptive. Minimus caught his optic and lifted his hand. The blue mech nodded, winding his way over to Minimus's desk.

“You must be Minimus Ambus,” the mech said in a low, mellow voice that reminded Minimus a little of Ravage’s. “I understand I’m to work with you in some capacity.”

“Yes. Would you rather speak here or elsewhere?” Minimus studied the mech, noting the differences between his optics; one normal, the other more like a monocle. Perhaps it was a targeting sight, like Perceptor’s.

Shadelock looked about the precinct with all the wariness of an experienced predator. “There’s a park nearby. Let’s talk there.”

Minimus stood and pushed in his chair, taking a few datapads that he could work on once he got home; the shift would be over by the time his conversation with Shadelock was finished.

Minimus was glad that he’d worn his armor today– with it, he reached the height of the average grounder. Shadelock was just barely taller. Minimus couldn’t really imagine interacting with this mech in an official capacity whilst being less than eye-level with his codpiece.

The park was, indeed, only a short distance away. Minimus had never been there, but two minutes later they were standing at the gate to a budding crystal garden. It was lovely to look at, despite the youth of the crystal formations. Minimus found the format of the park pleasant.

“May I ask why you chose this venue?” Minimus asked. “It would be easier and more expedient to discuss matters at the precinct.”

“Maybe I like the view.” Shadelock smirked briefly.

Minimus pursed his lips and considered the garden-park again. “It is aesthetically pleasing,” he admitted.

Shadelock let out a sigh. “It’s better this way,” he said. “Less prying audials. I’m told that this investigation is to be kept discreet to keep from alarming the public."

"That is correct."

The bounty-hunter smiled– smirked, really. "Then I'm glad we're in agreement." Shadelock started forward, leaving Minimus with no choice but to follow after him. They walked a short distance along the winding paths, looking at the crystal formations.

“You are aware of the protocols?” Minimus asked, glancing down at a particularly colorful crystal growth. The combination of purples and greens was strangely pleasant to look at.

“That I comm. you every night regardless of findings, and comm. you whenever I do find something? Yes.” Shadelock paused at a crystal growth that was larger than most of the others, studying its prismed shapes. “Not very complicated for you.”

“I’m responsible for making sure you don’t act outside your jurisdiction, or without some modicum of oversight.” Minimus looked at Shadelock. “You have a great amount of freedom, but I will not allow you to misuse it.”

Shadelock glanced over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t expect you to.” He turned away and continued down the path. “I always perform my jobs to the best of my ability.”

Minimus nodded slowly. “You are aware of the identities of your quarry?” he asked.

“The Autobot medic Pharma, and the Decepticon Turmoil.” Shadelock cast his gaze over the park, taking in all the other bots walking about. “I don’t imagine Turmoil will be hard to find, but he will be difficult to bring in. Pharma, from what I’ve read, will be difficult to find and to catch.

“Difficult,” Shadelock continued, smirking. “But not impossible.”

Overconfident, that was what Minimus thought. This mech had an excellent record, so it may well be founded, but overconfidence was never wise. Minimus kept that to himself. "Have you anything else to discuss regarding the case?" he said instead.

"No. But," Shadelock lifted his servo. "I'd like to take you out and buy you dinner, or a drink. We can talk about something other than the case."

Minimus didn't reply for a second too long. "Buy me- buy me a drink?" he said, more for want of something to say than of clarification.

Shadelock's smirk took on a tilt that Minimus couldn't quite parse. "Yeah, you know, get to know each other. This case could take a while– I wouldn't wanna work with a complete stranger all that time." He looked Minimus up and down, slowly. "I'd like to get to know you."

At last, Minimus realized what this was. An offer to interface– or at least, a prelude to interfacing. So many mechs had looked at him like this- looked at _Ultra Magnus_ like this. Up and down, smirking, smiling, teasing, wanting. But no one had _ever_ looked at Minimus like this, or asked him on a- on a _date_.

Gathering himself, Minimus said, "I'm afraid I have a prior engagement this evening."

Shadelock's optics glinted as he said, "Another time, then?"

"Perhaps."

"I'll hold you to that."

Whether it was the look in Shadelock's optics, or the mere shock of it all, Minimus found himself walking out of the park at as brisk a pace as he could politely manage.

Ravage sprawled across the windowsill leading onto the fire-escape of Minimus's apartment. The light of the setting sun spread over the floor, illuminating Minimus's small residence and warming the space on which Ravage lay. Ravage took it all in idly, waiting for Minimus's return.

The first few times Ravage turned up to teach Minimus, he did so with no prior announcement. Minimus had quickly grown weary of it, and requested (quite sharply) that Ravage give at least two days' notice. Ravage haggled it down to one day's notice, because work had been picking up again and his schedule was prone to last minute changes.

Ravage wondered, not for the first time and not for the last, how a mech so dependant on routine as Minimus had made it through the uncertainties of war without having a nervous breakdown.

Of course, that was assuming Minimus had never had a nervous breakdown.

The door opened, pulling Ravage from his thoughts. He watched Minimus close the front door, lock it, and turn around. The lights were all off, and Ravage was quite aware of the image he might strike, a silhouette against the sunlit window.

"I see you let yourself in again," Minimus said, disappointingly unperturbed.

Ravage hummed, pushing himself into a long, easy stretch. "And I see you wore your armor to work again."

Minimus didn't even frown when he walked into his bedroom to take off the armor. Ravage sat up, curiosity filling him in the short minutes before Minimus's return. The minibot came out slowly, arms crossed, expression pensive.

"You have a lot on your mind, little fox," Ravage observed, slipping down from the windowsill.

Minimus shook his head. "It's nothing. None of your business, at least." His crossed arms tightened. "Have you had dinner yet? Do you want some energon?"

"Actually," Ravage began. "I wanted to ask if you'd let me take this evening's lesson outside."

"Outside?" Minimus's optics widened.

Ravage shrugged with careful nonchalance. "I won't make you. I fully intend to get you out of your apartment in your altmode, but it doesn't have to be today." Especially with that nervous frown pursing Minimus's lips. Ravage recalled his earlier thought about nervous breakdowns.

Minimus uncrossed his arms, only to wring his hands. "I see…" He walked past Ravage to a window overlooking the street. He had to pull himself up onto the windowsill to properly look down. Ravage followed after, leaping up onto the windowsill. He watched Minimus watch the street below.

"It _is_ getting late," Minimus murmured. "Perhaps…" He looked at Ravage. "Do you want me to? Go out, that is."

"Eventually. It doesn't have to be today, like I said." That was something Ravage had noticed about Minimus in the past several weeks. As independent as he was in all other aspects, he didn't like _choosing_ to transform. It was always a battle for the mech to transform on his own unless Ravage outright told him to do so.

Ravage could imagine the sort of things that might lead to such a complex.

Minimus's facial insignia shifting slightly as he pursed and bit his lips. He stared at the street below as though it were a beast ready to bite him.

Ravage thought about saying 'alright, let's just stay in today' since it was so clearly bothering the smaller mech. But Minimus had to be the one to make the choice here, he wouldn't let Minimus have Ravage make all the choices in this arrangement.

So he waited patiently, watching Minimus struggle. The minibot wrung his hands and pursed his lips for little over a minute before finally saying, "Alright, alright let's go. But nowhere overt."

Ravage nodded. "Like you said, it's getting late. There'll be plenty of shadows to hide us."

Minimus hesitated a moment longer, then nodded resolutely. He slipped off the windowsill and transformed. With a light step, he trotted towards the door only to freeze halfway through the living room.

"The cameras," he said.

Ravage came up by Minimus's side, nudging him into turning around. "We'll take the fire-escape." Ravage bounded up onto the wide windowsill that led onto the fire-escape. With nimble claws, he worked the window open, ears pricked to the quiet sounds of Minimus's approach. Cool air rushed in through the open window, bringing with it the scent of smoke, city, and life.

Then Minimus leapt up onto the ledge, and his scent joined the multitude of others that Ravage’s processors had once struggled to manage. But he was well experienced with picking through what, to others, would be a sensory overload. He’d been experienced before Minimus was even Forged.

Minimus leaned over to look at the fire-escape platform. "Are you sure it's safe?" he said dubiously.

"It'll hold your weight and mine," Ravage replied. He hopped down onto the rickety platform, which clanged and clattered rustily under his weight. Ravage turned a small smirk on Minimus. The turbofox frowned, and tentatively slid from the windowsill to the platform. It rattled, but didn't give. No surprise, Minimus weighed barely more than an energon cube.

Ravage reared up on his hind legs and pulled the window shut. Dropping to all fours and walking over to the edge, Ravage looked out over the distance to the ground. Using a ladder was useless in this form; this was a good time to teach Minimus the flexible advantages of their frames.

In a single, sweeping motion, Ravage leapt down from the platform, landing easily on the ground below. Straightening, he looked up at Minimus, who stared with his ears pinned back.

“Do you seriously expect me to do that?” Minimus said.

Ravage raised a brow. “How else will you get down?” Minimus’s expression grew ever more skeptical. Ravage sighed. “Your frame will absorb the impact without damage. Just follow your instincts; technique can come later.”

It wasn’t the most graceful thing Ravage had ever seen. Minimus bounded forward a few steps upon landing, throwing off the excess kinetic energy.

Minimus's ears perked, and his optics flashed with triumph. Ravage huffed in amusement, optics narrowing.

"Well done," he said, because he'd long since figured out how well Minimus responded to praise. The signs were subtle, but he saw them now as Minimus's tail wagged unconsciously and his optics squinted in pleasure.

Ravage turned towards the street. "Come, little fox, let's walk. Is there anywhere you'd like to go?"

Minimus's head tilted to the side. "There is a crystal-garden park not far from the Debris station. I saw it this afternoon, but I wonder if it might have bioluminescent variations."

"Sounds interesting." Ravage nodded to the street ahead. "Go on and lead the way."

Bolstered by his success, Minimus bounded forward and out into the street. Ravage followed after him, careful not to lose sight of the little turbofox's fluffed tail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 is taking a damn long time to write because now that I've introduced case-fic elements this has gotten a whole lot harder to coordinate. I didn't realize I'd actually have to bullshit case details like... evidence and motives and stuff when I brought this in. But I do like it, so I'll just have to muscle through. It's takigna while tho
> 
> Comments appreciated, sorry for the wait for this chapter :/ hopefully your comments will bolster me

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me at my tumblr, myrddin-does-art. I do, presumably, art, and I'm always open to chat about Transformers :))


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